Author's Notes: My first Transformers fanfiction. I am nervous, but I am gonna man up! I have always enjoyed the Transformers fandom and entertained ideas but I've never acted on them. I had a plot bunny though. It attached itself to me and demanded I write Jolt since the guy rarely gets mentioned in the movies and in the comics, to me, his personality does a complete 180. Well, I hope you enjoy this little one shot of...well, something. Also, please point out any errors I may have made. It would help out greatly.

Warnings: Chances of slight or major OOC

Disclaimer: Transformers are not mine, they are owned by Hasbro.

"speech"

thoughts in Italics

Flex and stretch.

Tighten and Relax.

With every clench of his servo he sees the cables, wiring, the hydraulics and struts, the mechanisms that made him move clearly in his processor. Training from Ratchet had brought him that ability but even then is he thinking of the proper ones? Sometimes he forgets to organize the data, to sort out the files, but when one is sent out across the world to hunt down stray Decepticons it's hard to remember. He's alive, right? This isn't just some dream to spare him from the cruel reality that Cybertron was—is—dead?

Jolt flexes his servo again, stares at it with some kind of wonder, because he wants to know if he is still functioning. Does that make him paranoid? Does that make him delusional? Does that make him…dead? Primus, he is thinking too deep into these things. Before all that Egypt slag happened, before Jolt suddenly found himself pondering in his down time about his own life, he was happy with beating up Decepticons. He was happy actually making his life, his abilities, worth something.

And then Prime died—

And then Prime came back—

And Jolt didn't know what to think anymore.

His optics easily pick out the lumbering form of Prime in the NEST base, talking with Major Lennox. About what Jolt doesn't care but he takes in the form of their leader, notes the tired air about Optimus Prime's shoulders and how the great Autobot leader seems—down. Well, if I got brought back from the dead, Jolt thinks, I might be tired too.

Or scared.

Or both.

He continues to watch from his perch, blending in while around him the NEST base is full of activity. He watches as mechanisms so similar to his move so fluidly, as if they had not been caught in the throes of death, as if the mighty Prime had not been felled. An awkward feeling hangs in his spark and there is a struggle as Jolt tries to pinpoint it. He goes back to his servo and flexes it, observes it, and he wonders is the Prime really alive? Is the Prime really dead? Circles and circles in his head, forcing Jolt to clear his processors of it all—purge the thought before it even comes to fruition but it's no use.

He thinks of the boy. The boy who also died and came back with the Matrix of Leadership and Jolt really must be dreaming because humans were frail, humans acted bigger than they were, humans were—

"Stronger than we give them credit for."

Optimus had said that when he was briefing the new arrivals, to help the newcomers wrap their heads around how a human boy could kill Megatron. The words still ring heavy in his audios. He flexes his servo again. That awkward feeling gets heavier in his chest and Jolt finally realizes it for what it is. He's felt it before. From his first mission, his first battle, up to when they were fighting for their lives in Egypt he has felt it before. It makes his entire frame shake, makes his armor rattle on his form.

A disturbing thought and he hates it.

"Jolt, I need your help in the med bay," Ratchet's voice calls out but it's distant and he just can't stop shaking. A hand on his shoulder, "Jolt—"

"I'm afraid."

He's afraid of his disappearance.